


Coping Mechanism

by SpiralsInTime



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, Boys Kissing, Coping mechanism, Flower Crowns, Flowers, Fluff, Gentle Kissing, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier wears pink, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Julian Alfred Pankratz - Freeform, M/M, Pink Jaskier, Random & Short, Short & Sweet, Short One Shot, cause my heart cant handle the angst, just fluff, soft kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:48:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23539381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiralsInTime/pseuds/SpiralsInTime
Summary: Geralt smells Jaskier's tears and anxiety after his fight and rushes to his side, unknowing of what he may stumble to find.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 18
Kudos: 430





	Coping Mechanism

**Author's Note:**

> I got this random idea of Jaskier making flower crowns whenever he was anxious about something and then it led to this whole...thingy.

The overbearing scent of the decapitated Bruxa’s head, swaying with his movement in his hand, intoxicatingly assaulting his scenes. His own head throbbed violently as if he was the one suffering from blood loss instead of the lifeless head hanging beside him, his hands entangled within the piercing black hair carelessly. Groaning hoarsely, Geralt forced himself to continue on, well-aware that the potions boiling in his bloodstream were slowly leaving his system but not before the god-awful after-effects of downing them; he pushed through as he always did. 

It was sometime in July, Geralt didn’t know the exact date, it didn’t really impact his lifestyle, but all he knew was that it was too _fucking_ hot. The sun’s rays glared at Geralt in what felt like disgust and shame of giving her heat to this mutant who deserved nothing but pain and misery. 

Sweat flowed down the arch in his back underneath the usual black armor he wore, his two swords strapped against it. His undershirt stuck uncomfortably to his sweat-soaked skin, raising yet another unpleasant grunt out of him as he stalked through the trees, still on edge, making his way to where he’d left Jaskier. Hoping he was still there and hadn’t left after the unusually longer fight. At least he hadn’t stupidly and impulsively run to find Geralt during his confrontation with the Bruxa; he appreciated that as much, not that he’d ever admitted it to the bard.

He stopped abruptly, tensing before closing his eyes, inhaling the area, focusing on his hearing and smell. 

The strong scent of overwhelming anxiety wafted wildly through the air as the breeze shifted towards him. The softest of beating from a heart whispered in his ears, beating incredibly fast, overlaying the slightest smell of tears.

_Jaskier_. 

Geralt’s feet instinctively started sprinting in the direction Jaskier and Roach were, his thoughts the wind flying past.

_What the fuck did you get yourself into this time, Jask?_

_What if a pack of wolves got to him?_

_Thieves, possibly? He wasn’t too far out from the main road. Shit--_

_Fuck, you better not die on me, Julian--_

  
  


Basically throwing his body around a tree, his eyes were met with Jaskier sitting cross-legged in the long grass, the green lines contrasting heavily with his light pink doublet and high-waisted pants, his casual grey undershirt hung loosely. Inhaling the air a bit he noticed Jaskier hadn’t heard him, which confused him for he certainly was not being quiet running like that, but then he heard it. The bard mumbling.

Jaskier’s fingers shook violently while trying to braid the stems of Canterbury Bells, a small white flower, together. A number of piles rested beside the bard, each categorized by the species. The smallest gatherings of bright red Celosias were to his left, the long forest’s grass covering over them as if to hide their precious color to keep it for itself. Inches away from them sat a warm pile of white Daffodils, a larger amount for they were everywhere around the nearby road. 

A bright blue Globe Thistle shook in Jaskier’s hands, trying to bend the long thin stem into the other few inches of braided flowers. “Just breathe, in, out, it’ll be fine,” 

Geralt quickly stepped forward, his eyebrows furrowed in worry, wondering why the bard’s fingers couldn’t stop shaking and his chest rising too quickly. “Geralt will be--” 

“Jaskier?”

“Geralt!” The bard nearly fell from jumping to his feet so quickly, easily forgetting about the flowers he was braiding, leaving them carelessly on the grass before stepping towards the witcher. His soft features showed nothing but glee and relief, a widening smiling tugging at his pink lips.

“I thought something terrible happened! And, I-I didn’t know-I wasn’t sure-god, why the _bloody_ hell did you take so long!” Jaskier suddenly furrowed his eyebrows, his voice ending in a nearly cross tune.

“She was far stronger than I anticipated,” he shrugged, lifting the gory head in his hands--which to his amazement, he hadn’t dropped once hurrying to check up on Jaskier. The swirling blue eyes made their way to the disgusting head dripping in all shades of red and made a face of repugnance but somehow managed to step closer, a flash of curiosity shivered over his face.

“She--the Bruax--she didn’t bite you, right? ‘Cause if I am correct, and I usually tend to be so on such matters,” Geralt rolled his eyes at that, setting down the mess of bloody flesh. “They inject poison when feeding, deadly to even a Witcher?”

Geralt grunted, “Didn’t bite me.” 

Sniffing the air slightly, he started to remove his stinking armor, covered in blood and sweat. Jaskier didn’t smell of anxiety anymore; just pure, utter happiness and strong relief. “Why were you shaking?”

He glanced up confused, his attention still allured by the dead Bruax, now staining the grass with large plots of red. “Oh, before,” He stated quite dumbly before he shifted his weight to the other hip, looking ever so slightly to the side of Geralt’s face, but not directly at him. “I was worried about you,” 

Geralt noticed a diminutive change in the bard’s voice, nearly sounding embarrassed, but ever so lightly for it to not mask his smell. “I’m fine. Always come back, don’t I?” Jaskier didn’t answer, only nodded slightly, somewhat stuck in his thoughts, his eyes now meeting with the Earth’s. Geralt didn’t understand, at all, but I guess this wasn’t new when it came about his bard. Humans still confuse him in general, even after twenty years of on-and-off time spent with one, he’s yet to sort order to their behaviors. Humans were predictable when it came to their violence, but nothing else. I guess he had never known much of humans feeling anything _but_ violence when it came to him--and fear, always fear. But this wasn’t the case with Jaskier, far from it, in fact.

Geralt decided to change the subject, missing the ghost of a smile on the bard’s lips. “What are you making?” He inquired, tossing his eyes behind the bard, gesturing towards the messily braided flowers.

Jaskier’s face lit up ever so joyous, his cornflower blue eyes sparkled excitedly while he flashed his smile. “Ah, yes, of course! You’re going to hate this, I’m sure, but oh well.”

Geralt immediately relaxed, a tug at the corner of his lips while looking at the bard turning around swiftly, carelessly plopping his body down where he was sitting cross-legged before, mirroring the exact position. Jaskier looked up at him with puppy eyes, the blue wide and vast and loving.

“Well, come sit down,” he gestured in front of him, watching as the witcher awkwardly settled down, not really knowing what to do with his legs, trying to avoid disrupting the flowers laid out around them. Apparently Jaskier noticed and chuckled warm-heartedly, but not judging; never judging. His pink doublet reflected the sunrays spying through the canopy above them, flicking him with light.

“I was making a flower crown,” Jaskier spoke softly, a gentle blush blooming over his cheeks as he held out the line of braided flowers, showing the Witcher in front of him. “It helps calm me down when I’m panicking, or just nervous in general, I guess.”

Geralt’s hand hesitantly reached out, accepting the fragile flowers in his large palm. “How?” He voiced, with somewhat genuine interest, analyzing the weaved stems together like vines. 

Jaskier visibly perked up with excitement, a passionate dimpled smile naturally tugging at his lips, sending light to his child-wonder-filled eyes. He scooted his body closer to Geralt, their knees touching ever so lightly, the soft fabric covering his legs brushed against the harsher leather high-waisted pants. 

As Jaskier slowly began weaving flower stems together, inserting instructions and tips every now and again, Geralt found himself focusing too much on the bard’s fingers and how soft, yet strong they were. 

Jaskier plopped the freshly-made flower crown upon his brown locks that were brushed off to the side. Most of the string of flowers were white, a few small reds sprinkled in, and the focus piece was a stunning blue flower. 

“What do you think?” The bard asked, dramatically posing with a large smile on his face, the creases by his eyes deepened with it. 

_Fucking gorgeous._

“Nice,” Geralt opted out, a slight tug on the corners of his lips. 

“Just ‘nice?’” Jaskier asked, pouting his bottom lip out in another dramatic gesture, earning him a roll of the eyes from the Witcher. 

“Okay, now!” Jaskier chirped, shifting his body so they were now shoulder-to-shoulder, knee-to-knee, before continuing animatedly. “You try to make your own. There should be enough flowers, but we can go off and pluck some more; possibly even looking for other colors for you.” 

“No, Jask—“ Geralt tried, but inevitably got caught off. 

“Unless, you want to match with me,” the bard winked, gently bumping his shoulder into the figure next to him. 

“I can’t make one like yours,” Geralt looked at the neatly crafted flower crown that sat on Jaskier’s soft hair.

“I’ll guide you,” his smile dropped as the words left his mouth, and quickly his eyebrows furrowed anxiously. I mean, we don’t _have_ to do this. It’s probably really stupid to you, I just do this when I’m anxious and I thought, well, maybe I—“ 

Geralt reached his hand out mindlessly, touching the bard’s knee. “Guide me,” he breathed out, desperately wanting the furrow in Jaskier’s brows to be gone and replaced with his breathtaking smile; his words fulfilling those wishes. 

Jaskier lovingly looked at him which made Geralt get that unknown-feeling in his bones whenever Jaskier smiled at him like that; the feeling made his body uncomfortable, not being able to predict the moments after, something deadly for a Witcher. 

Geralt’s hands were stained with dried blood, easily visible on the white flowers he held as it flecked off on a few petals lightly. He grunted at Jaskier’s instructions when he would put the flower’s stem through the wrong way or pulled too tightly where the stem snapped. It was irritating more than anything. They sat like that, legs crossed, side-by-side for a while as Jaskier patiently watched Geralt struggle with the small stems, chuckling to himself softly. 

“Fuck,” It was only when a few flowers were needed to complete it when Geralt grunted, dropping it carelessly, giving up.

He rolled his eyes theatrically, “You nearly had it, Geralt,” he joked, picking up the flower crown in the grass. Jaskier leaned heavily into Geralt’s body, his head resting on his broad shoulder while he worked in the final flowers, humming absentmindedly. 

Geralt’s breath hitched feeling his senses focusing on the bard’s body; the warmth, the muscles twitching as he moved his fingers, the familiar scent of rose water and evergreen. Without realizing it, his body leaned into the touch, desperately craving it as if it were fleeting. Wisps of Jaskier’s messy hair brushed against his jaw and the slight feeling of his vocal cords vibrated against his shoulder as he listened to the calming melody the bard had aimlessly started humming. 

“Geralt?” 

He hadn’t realized he had closed his eyes until he snapped them open at the sound of Jaskier’s soft breath. He had a smug look on his features causing Geralt to hum roughly in response, straightening his posture, forcing the bard off of his frame, and his skin practically screamed at him for letting the warmth free. 

Jaskier leaned in, a knowing smirk playing at his cherry lips before tenderly pressing them against Geralt’s rougher ones. Energy flashed through Geralt’s body, a pleasurable hum escaping him. 

Instinctively, his coarse hands wrapped around his bard, easily pulling him over his lap. Jaskier beamed from the embrace, his blooming smile breaking off the kiss. Geralt looked up at him, taking in every detail of the flushed face in his gaze. 

His teeth peeked out as he bit his bottom lip thoughtfully, his cheeks crimsoned matching his reddened ears. The impenetrable eyes danced over the Witcher’s features, though he couldn’t read the overwhelming swirling emotions in the coral blue in front of him. On top of his hair rested the skillfully crafted flower crown, the deep red petals contrasting perfectly with the bard’s crystalline eyes. 

Geralt pulled him closer, earning a little yelp in surprise from the bard, though he leaned further into him. He felt something being placed on his head. 

Leaning back in his arms, Jaskier’s hands thrown behind the Witcher’s nape as he smiled buoyantly, his head tilting slightly to the side as he continued to admire what was in front of him. It took a moment for Geralt to process what he did, a sigh leaving his lips.

“Jask, I’m not wearing the flower crown.” Though he didn’t remove his hands to take it off, a pleasurable feeling rippled through him at the touch of Jaskier’s love handles. 

“I know,” he shrugged a shoulder, his hands still thrown over him. “But, I wanted to see you with it, just once, and as I expected--” Jaskier paused to bring their lips together again, the heat of Geralt’s warmed his own. He pulled back, their lips brushing against each other as he continued, “--you look just ravishing, absolutely exquisite.” 

_As do you._


End file.
